<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Carpet Burn by abusemesoftly</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160609">Carpet Burn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/abusemesoftly/pseuds/abusemesoftly'>abusemesoftly</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dissociation, First Time, Flashbacks, M/M, Molestation, Non-Consensual Touching, Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange, Polyamory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sad with a Happy Ending, Sexual Abuse, Shock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 20:42:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,420</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160609</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/abusemesoftly/pseuds/abusemesoftly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie faces one of the worst nights of his life in flashes while thoughts of his loving friends and partners keep him afloat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Ben Hanscom/Eddie Kaspbrak/Beverly Marsh/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Wentworth Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Poly Losers Club Fic Exchange Vol.2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Carpet Burn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this in the middle of the night for the fic exchange. Take it or leave it, but don't come at me, I was following a prompt given to me. If you don't like it, don't read. Let's get started.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Come here!” His father yelled, chasing him through the house. He was hammered and Richie didn’t want to play this game anymore. He ran down the hall and his shirt was grabbed from behind. He was pushed into what used to be his parents bedroom, but now was mostly just passed by in silence. He was thrown down near the bed, not quite on it, but his shirt lifting up. He panicked to get away, but all it did was help the old man pull his shirt off over his head. Because of his squirming he managed to get to the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was pushed against the wall, Bill holding his hips as they made out. He bit Bill’s bottom lip and the other boy groaned. The best thing about kissing Bill was that Bill was not graceful like Stan, and he wasn’t as dominating as Eddie, but he was just as needy as Richie. It was always fun kissing Bill, especially when they were like this, smoking at Bill’s house, hanging out, passing a handle around the seven of them. Doing their best to forget the stress of their life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being seniors was hard, but being young and in love was easy, so every chance they got they were together, having a good time. Taking the time to learn the fun, intimate, and physical things about each other was a pretty good distraction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill was very handsy, pushing his shirt up, feeling all over his chest and down onto his flat stomach. Richie’s skin reacted to how cold Bill’s hands were and he sucked a quick breath in. It made the dip between his hips even deeper and his pants stood farther out from his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bill gave a small tug on his pants making the material tight around his hip bones, giving a perfect place for his hand to slip down into them. Richie threw his head back and somewhere in the distance he heard one of his friends laughing just down the hall. The short distance between the innocence of their get together and the fun things there were doing was almost just as good as the feel of Bill’s hand around his dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally Bill looked up and smirked at Richie, “I don’t know how you do that.” Their eyes met and Richie shuddered, his eyes were piercing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do what?” Rich questioned with a soft laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look so sexy…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie blinked up at his father. Bill was long gone and so was the fun atmosphere of two months ago when the gang had decided to make the whole “polyamorous” relationship thing official. He remembered now that he was not against the wall at Bill’s place, but the floor in his house. Which explained the carpet rubbing against his bare back, burning his shoulder blades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off me!” Richie yelled back, struggling to get out from underneath the much larger man. He wasn't sure what had just happened, missing a small chunk of time was confusing, but he was more focused on getting away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so smooth, so soft, stop moving. You’re pissing me off, stop making this so difficult! He was shaking Richie now. The world was already blurry, his glasses long gone somewhere in the living room, but the disorientation was new. Everything was a blur of dingy color, and he felt like he might throw up. He felt the thud of his head hit the ground hard and he laid there. Closing his eyes and feeling himself drifting off into the scene playing distantly in his head like a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Staniel you were not kidding.” Richie ran a hand through his hair and looked down at his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I’m not fucking kidding. Do you want to stop?” Stan’s range of facial expressions had changed so much in the two seconds he had been on his knees in front of Richie. They had been making out for a while now, Stan’s parents were out of town this weekend, and as soon as Richie had walked through the door Stan was kissing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! God no, I just didn’t think you would ever take me up on my offer.” Richie admitted, blushing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone knew about the sexual tension between the lot of them, seven horny teenagers could only control themselves so much. But it was weird, one week they would be looking at one of their friends as just another kid, and then one wrong look at the quarry, or the slightest change in someone's voice and suddenly their friend became someone who was sexy. It was affecting them all. They’re bodies were changing, growing, getting taller, filling out, for most of them anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was always known as the trashmouth, but once they hit sixteen, and a fresh batch of hormones had showed up for all of them Richie’s jokes had become less structured. They were almost dares and were seemingly encouraged, if the longing gazes and blushes were anything to go by. So when Stan had been complaining about not having his first kiss yet, earlier that day at Bill’s house Richie jumped at the opportunity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie offered himself up for that task, “and others” but when Stan rolled his eyes and walked off that would be the end of it. He didn’t expect for Stan to actually pull him aside later and ask him to come over to his house later that night after they were done hanging out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what’s going on with me, or you, but you’re my best friend, and I haven’t been able to get you or your stupid dick out of my head for like two weeks now.” Richie laughed and bent down to kiss him again. He stood up and nodded to Stan for him to keep going. Stan’s hands were fumbling with the ridiculously difficult belt Richie had on. He always kept it on, even when they all gave him shit for how complex it looked. Stan had laughed with him about how hard his belt was, and had Richie show him exactly how to take it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know why you wear this stupid fucking thing anyway.” His father's hands were nowhere near as gentle or caring as Stan’s. Wouldn’t be even if he wasn’t piss drunk.  His father just yanked Richie around until he was able to get it loosened a bit. Pulling on the belt and his pants was doing the trick, but not enough for it to go smoothly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, you’re going to rip my shit!” Richie said finally getting one arm free from his father's grip, his hand immediately going to push his father away, swatting at his hand. He felt partially responsible for how bad things had gotten. Maybe if he had always fought back against his father's hands then they wouldn’t be here right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie wasn’t very strong. He struggled to keep himself fed most of the time, relying on snacks and meals thrust at him from his friends to eat anything substantial. And that was on top of puberty fucking up his center of gravity. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t agile though, but seeing as his father was sitting on his legs, he was pretty easy to keep pinned. No matter how much he tried to get away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once his jeans were over his hips, the rough denim scraping against his skin, it only took one more rough yank to get his pants down around his thighs. Realizing that he was quickly losing this battle Richie started to cry. He wasn’t much of a crier these days. As a kid he hated crying because he thought it showed weakness, then his mother died and suddenly crying made a lot of sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about four years of her being gone Richie liked to claim that he had simply used up all of his tears, that he was out of stock. The jokes got easier and he had gotten used to the cold house. The lack of a mother presence to keep everything going like normal. He even got used to his father sneaking into his bed almost every night. It started pretty shortly after the funeral. He was also grieving so at first he didn’t mind, sleeping next to his father was comforting. It was when he was told to stay quiet, and started feeling his dad’s hands roaming over his skin that he knew it was no longer appropriate. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your room is so much cleaner than I thought it would be, no offence.” Mike laughed as he explored Richie’s bedroom. He had heard the horror stories from Eddie, and despite being part of the club for a few years now Mike had never gone over to Richie’s house. Stan told him that it was pretty rare for him to have people over. He didn’t question it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie is always talking shit, don’t listen to him, I’m not actually that dirty, I’m just occasionally unorganized...and human!” He explained. Telling Mike he could sit down if he wanted he grabbed his backpack and started going through his clothes quickly. Overlooking the main section of his shirts for a baggy long sleeve he shoved it in and another just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike was more fascinated by looking around Richie’s room. It looked like a regular boy’s room, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Richie hadn’t changed anything since he was 12. It was all old movie posters of movies he didn’t care for that much anymore, comic books they hadn’t read in years, and old chipping paint. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the eerie feeling of the room Mike was happy to be learning about Richie on a raw, personal level. Richie was a fascinating character. He was loud and talked a big game, but he hated the dark, and everytime he made a sex joke he looked almost dissapointed that they laughed. Finding himself staring at Richie again he wasn’t even seeing what he was packing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally Richie noticed he was staring and laughed, snapping Mike out of his trance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could at least take me out to eat first Mikey, ‘cuz I gotta say, you’re looking a little hungry there.” Richie said, shaking his hips as he laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mike always let himself get flustered when the remarks were directed at him, no matter how many times Richie joked. Finally something changed, maybe it was the fact that Mike could sense how personal it was that Richie had let him come up here to his room, or maybe it was how annoying it was that he still looked sexy while he teased Mike. Either way, Mike surged up, crossing the room and caught Richie’s lips in a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled away a moment later, realizing that he hadn’t asked at all, and unsure of how Richie would take it. They all knew that he had ‘helped Stan out’ but neither of them would say if they were together or not, and Mike had no right to kiss Richie without asking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rich-” He was cut off as Richie kissed him back feverishly, wrapping his arms around Mike’s neck pulling him close. Mike put his hands on his sides and walked them backwards, using the wall behind Richie to help pull him closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie groaned feeling how strong Mike’s hands were. He could easily keep this going, get lost in how strong Mike was, but he remembered why they were here in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly,” he pulled back, voice a little shaky, “I’d love to keep making out with you right now, but the gang is going to get worried if we don’t catch up with them soon enough.” He did want to keep making out with Mike, but he was thankful he didn’t have too. He didn’t want to do that here. It was tainted. He wanted being with Mike to be free of the guilt his bedroom brought him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Riche had almost wished he was in his own room. Pretending to sleep as his father touched him under the blanket and rubbed himself all over. That he was used to. He had memorized the words to a handful of songs that he just played on repeat in his head during these times. He had a routine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand why his dad had to go and change everything. Started drinking more, touching Richie during the days, making comments about his body, things had started to escalate and it was getting harder to justify the things he was doing like Richie used to try to do. Anything that helped make it not seem as scary, but scary had gotten a lot worse lately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was on his stomach now, arms still pinned as his rough hands still moved all over his pale, thin body. It was humiliating, and he hadn’t realized how grateful he had been that in the past the only time he had to endure his father doing this was at night, the room would be dark except for whatever light came in the window, but Richie could just stare at the wall, and even if his eyes came open the room was dark, hiding the nightmare happening to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now the lights were all on, and it made it so much harder to dissociate. Beverly had taught him that word, late at night as she explained the issue she was having every time she tried to kiss anyone. It was vague who she had been trying to kiss, but Richie knew it had to be one of them. She had made it obvious over the years that the only guys she trusted were the six remaining members of The Losers Club.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like, like it’s not that I don’t want to kiss him, I do. I really do. And I know he wants to kiss me, that was obvious even before he leans in to do it. But then as soon as he gets close I just freeze. And sometimes I can do it, but even those times, he knows it’s not me.” She explained holding the cigarette they were sharing out to him. He took it from her and continued listening, wrapping his arms around his knees, being careful not to burn himself on accident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like I’m not there anymore, I’m a little girl again, and he’s there, standing so close to me, and I feel the same gut wrenching feeling I did back then. And that’s not fair! That was so long ago, I haven't seen him in years, I’m safe now and I know that B-he would never hurt me. And I do want to kiss him so bad Rich…” She forwent the cigarette they were trying to share and lit her own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eddie gave me a handjob.” Richie said out of the blue. He cursed under his breath as soon as he said it. Beverly snorted and spun her head around to look at him. The weed they had just smoked making the words not line up with the connections he was making in his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I have a point, I think.” He rubbed his eyes. “I think I understand. Eddie gave me a handjob last week and I think I felt a similar way.” Richie was so honest. More honest than anyone else ever saw. It was rare that he was so serious, but it was only with Stan. Beverly now sat, realizing this was one of those rare times and that it was her turn to listen. Hoping that what he had said wasn’t what it sounded like. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to do it so badly, I was really getting into it, I mean Eddie is very fun to...but as soon as his hand went down my pants everything kind of slowed down. It was like I wasn’t there anymore, but I was still really into it, so I just kept quiet and it was actually over pretty quickly, so I don’t think he noticed. And then I was fine. I think. I don’t know.” He put the butt in their makeshift ashtray and took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky was turning pink and gold as the sun threatened to ruin their perfectly no good night. They both just sat there, listening to the birds beginning to sing, as the day started. Neither of them really wanted the night to be over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly was having issues with sleeping. The nightmares were becoming a permanent part of her life now, and the adjustment period was rough. She was supposed to start taking some medication, but that was also hard. Richie was just having issues. Nothing was making sense anymore, things with his dad were getting more confusing, and the older they got the more they were experimenting with each other. That was anxiety producing enough without the added stress of someone possibly finding out. He thought about telling her on occasion, but she had so much trauma with her own dad he wanted to spare her any bad memories he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I joined your rag tag team pretty late, but I’m glad we’re as close as we are now.” Beverly smiled at him and then looked down at the porch and her face fell. She was getting increasingly more worried about Richie as time went on. He was getting more skittish, and they were all changing and getting more of a fashion sense, and hormones were a bitch so she brushed a lot of things off because of that. But tonight, his words, they were hard to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t help the feeling that she was ignoring the signs and signals he was throwing out for help like she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too Red.” He said and stood up, stretching his legs and shaking his body out. “Alright, well it’s getting early, we should try to sleep. I’ll see you later?” Richie said trying to steer the conversation away from the tense, serious note it just had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I will. Thanks for hanging out with me. If you ever need anything...let me know.” She said and leaned in, kissing his cheek. Richie loved to joke about sex, and Beverly, for the most part, was able to dish it back at him, but something about the softness of it all, it was scary how much love he felt from that small gesture. He turned to leave, the unspoken worry still hanging in the air. He looked back over his shoulder as she was walking into the house, reaching out to her figure, fading in the distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beverly…” Richie whimpered out. His throat was rough from crying and trying to yell at his father to stop. He knew that there was no way she would hear him, but he hadn’t realized that his father had been talking the whole time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That Marsh girl? I know the kinds of things she does, her and her old man are nothing but white trash. If I didn’t know you were gay I would think she would be no good to be around.” His words slurred together. His father had never been particularly mean, but generally he kept to himself, busying himself with work and sports to care who Richie had hung out with. As things between them evolved though, he got more and more possessive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up! You don’t know her, you, no, stop!” He was hit with a new surge of panic as he felt his father lining up with his entrance. He was trying to push it in with just some spit and he again used all his might to get away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop! Please, dad-ah!” Richie was hit with a white hot pain that shot up his spine. The distant cousin of the pleasure that was usually there, he screamed and kicked, trying to throw the man off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The more you struggle the worse it’ll be.” His father grunted as he gripped him tighter, continuing on despite Richie’s cries. He had only done this once before, but there was no lube, no care, no love this time. It hurt, a lot, more than he ever thought it could, and he could only think how lucky he felt that this hadn’t been his first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Richie was sitting outside with the rest of the losers. They were at Mike’s farm tonight, enjoying the warm summer night. He had been giving Ben a hard time about his “game.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m telling you, none of that slow sweet stuff is worth it.” Richie was a few beers in, but so was Ben. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never taken your time? Yeah it’s not fast and exciting, but going slow can be religious. You can feel every movement, hear every sound, feel everything better.” Ben nodded genuinly as the others just rolled their eyes at the conversation they were having. It took a while, but once they got Ben comfortable with all of them he opened right up. He was still the sweet caring boy that everyone else knew, but especially once they all found out they could get alcohol, he turned out to be no different then every other teenage boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation had moved on naturally, but Ben's words had stuck with Richie. He had gone up to Beverly to ask her about it, and she smiled. It was no secret that she and Ben had messed around, he assumed she had gotten over her dissociating issue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what Tozier? You wanna know if it’s worth it? Why don’t you take Ben home tonight. I know he’s game. Are you?” She left the ball in his court and returned to the losers. Richie had messed with a few of the others, hell, he had even fucked Eddie. But he knew that if he kept down this road Ben would be on top. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only a little while later that Richie found himself up in a spare bedroom with Ben sitting between his legs. Richie was being taken apart one finger at a time. He hadn’t realized that he could like this as much as he liked doing it to others. He had made a note to thank Beverly later, but it was hard to focus on anything but the stretch, and it took a surprisingly short time for Ben to find something within him that had his back arching off the bed crying out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t be bothered to care if anyone heard anymore because this felt too good. Looking at Richie and the noises he made were enough for Ben to abandon any hesitation he had about whether or not he liked it. It didn’t take long for them to fumble around to find a condom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His touches were strong and deliberate, caring. It felt so nice. Richie had insisted on doing this face to face, because the idea of someone touching him like that without being able to see him was a little too unnerving, but Ben was nothing if not accommodating. It was great and Richie understood now why the others liked doing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So tight.” Ben’s voice wasn’t his anymore, it was heavy and harsh, the heat radiating over the back of his neck. It made him gag with disgust as he was violently thrown back into reality. The pain was immeasurable, and his father trying to talk to him was worse than the silent nights they spent together. The thought made him shudder, remembering the fear he felt when it first started happening, he had no idea it would get this far. He thought if he let it go on it would stop there. He couldn’t register any more stimuli at this point. He could barely feel his back side, the ringing in his head blocking out any noise, and he was so detached he wasn't really seeing anything, but rather looking through it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while there was movement in front of his face, another stab of pain and then he was looking at the ceiling, the vibrations of the floor were a familiar pattern that he could far off place as his father's footsteps. The door shutting, and the stairs, it was all memorized, but the only thing he could do was lay there unmoving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t remember closing his eyes, but when he opened them he felt stiff. Everything hurt, some things more than others, and he struggled to stand, and get himself to his room. It was still dark outside, but the house was fully lit up as it was before all of this started. He couldn’t look at his bed, he simply worked on finding his most loose fitting pair of sweats and a hoodie. Pulling on the nearest pair of shoes he fell over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling himself up he got a glance of himself in the mirror. He looked pale, like usual. His face was puffy from crying, and his clothes seemed to hang off of him like they were four sizes too big. He didn’t remember this hoodie being this big on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well yeah, it was my dad’s.” Eddie said as he sat on his bed to finish tying his shoes. Richie was not prepared for the rapid drop in temperature outside, and it was the only thing Eddie had that would fit Rich. They had both grown, but he was still smaller than Richie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure you are okay with me wearing this?” He said hesitantly despite moving to put it on, shaking as if he was still freezing even inside. By the time he turned around to look back at Eddie once he had checked himself out he was met with the most pure look Eddie was capable of making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it looks good on you.” Eddie wasn’t good with emotions, and neither was Rich, but the idea that Eddie, Eddie of all people trusted Richie of all people with a hoodie that belonged to his dad. It had never occured to Richie to be able to give something of his mothers away, but he figured it came with time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually the hoodie had made its way into part of Richie’s permanent wardrobe, and he couldn’t help the joke that Eddie just liked seeing Richie in his clothes. Eddie would roll his eyes every time, but he wouldn’t deny it. And Richie knew that it was deeper than that. It wasn’t just that he looked good in a hoodie of his, but rather that seeing Richie, someone he loved so dearly, wear something that belonged to his dad was such a serious thing, and the idea didn’t scare him one bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>~~~~~~</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even bother trying to leave through the front door. He had no idea if his dad was on the couch, crashed out like he usually was, or if he had left all together like he did sometimes. He had grabbed his phone and his cigarettes and pulled the hood up as he carefully lifted himself out of his window, and headed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking was horrifying. He could feel something rolling down his thighs. Every step hurt worse than the one before, and it was much colder than he had anticipated. In the far back of his mind he was thankful that he had even managed to grab the hoodie in the first place. That’s the only part of his mind that seemed to be able to think. It felt far back, trapped, stuck in his head, like his body was working on auto pilot without consulting his brain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body had also decided somewhere along the way that they were headed towards Adam’s St. Beverly lived there. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do when he got there. He hadn’t ever considered telling anyone, but this felt different than what he had been hiding before. This felt much more grown up, and much more real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Richie?” Beverly asked as she rubbed her eyes. She was not a heavy sleeper, but that didn’t mean she was excited to be woken up. He stood on her front porch, shaking and couldn’t look at her really. She moved out of the way and ushered him inside, locking the door again behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they had gotten to her room and she had turned on a light she saw the dead look in his eyes, the tears on his cheek and the limp he walked with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Richie…” As soon as she spoke he knew she knew. There was no going back. And now that she knew he didn’t have to hide, and it was like a switch had been flipped and he was no longer in the back of his head. He collapsed into her, holding onto her sleep shirt with a death grip, sobbing because he finally felt safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure what to do. She sat on the floor, petting his head as he cried, crying herself. Seeing one of her best friends, having just lived through one of the worst trauma’s imaginable was something she hoped she would never have to see.  He trusted her completely, and for a split second, among all of the chaos and hardship that was about to happen, he was reminded of being held by his mother. She was warm, and it was nice, until he was reminded that it was still Beverly, not his mother, and that brought another round of hysteria. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After many rounds of near hyperventilation, she was able to calm him down and he told her what happened. All of it. How it started so soon after his mom's death. The fear and confusion, he thought if he let it happen it would be helping his dad cope. How it was alright at first, he had grown used to the sinking feeling when he heard his bedroom door open, and his friends and the distraction of school and their budding relationship was enough to keep him going, to keep up hope but then it started getting worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He told her about the shame and guilt. The fear. His gut instinct to freeze anytime any of their partners wanted to touch him. The confusion because he loved their partners, he loved the losers, but he didn’t understand what was happening, and he didn’t know how to process the years of abuse vs the new escalation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a while the sun was coming up, and it wasn’t long after that that Beverly’s aunt came in to wake her up, surprised and worried to find one of her friends crying in her lap on the floor of her bedroom. Beverly took a moment to help Richie up and into her bed. She told him she would be right back, and she made sure he had heard her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she had shut the door behind her, she told her aunt everything. Everything Richie said, and her own guilty thoughts about every time she thought she saw something and didn’t say anything. All of her fears and racing thoughts about letting this happen to her friend were extinguished by her aunt who jumped into protective mode. Reassuring Beverly that she could not have possibly prevented this, and that she couldn’t blame herself. The important thing was that Richie was here and safe now, and that they were going to help him just like she had done for the red head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beverly texted the group, with his permission, to come over as soon as possible, that it was an emergency, and within fifteen minutes Mike was there, having been close by already running errands. Over the course of the next thirty minutes the rest of them showed up, within five minutes of reading the text. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By that point there was already an officer talking to Richie, Bev holding his hand the whole time. The rest of them sat, talking with each other about what this meant. He was going to be 18 soon, but not soon enough to be on his own, and then what? None of them had a job, and they started trying to figure out what they could do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of the hardest things Richie had ever done, asking for help, but he knew, even with the house buzzing with officers, and questions, and uncertainty, that he wasn’t alone. He had his best friends, and it was as comforting a thought as any. He wasn’t sure he had ever believed in soulmates, but watching his real family work and worry about him, he figured this was as close as anyone would actually get to soulmates. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alright guys, that's it, uh, yeah, its rough, but please get help if something like this is happening or has happened, people care, and you don't deserve that. I love all of you, </p><p>Check out my linktree please!<br/>https://linktr.ee/Jedidiahpgodfrey</p><p>please stay safe guys, both outside and at home. If you need to talk, i'm here. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>